FBI's Most Wanded
by QuestRunner
Summary: When two No-Maj children go missing and the trail runs cold, MACUSA's elite FBI branch is assigned the case. Special Agent Vaughn Valenfield and his team must work around the clock to find the young girls and uncover the evil behind their disappearance.
1. Chapter 1

Vaughn studied the array of pictures scattered across his desktop with a sigh. Two young children had been reported missing, the trail cold enough to warrant his team's special tactics. He ran his fingers across the pictures' glossy finish. They were the last images the grieving parents had taken of their daughters, two dark-haired girls playing in the grass with the family dog.

The officer glanced at the time stamp he had already committed to memory. It had been exactly two weeks since the picture. Twelve days since their disappearance.

The local PD had originally suspected custodial kidnapping and interviewed countless family members, scrutinizing their statements with a fine-toothed comb. In the end, the young girls' relatives were cleared of all suspicion, leaving the police with no suspects, no leads, no witnesses, and no motive for the crime that left the small town buzzing.

It was then that the FBI took ownership of the case and discreetly passed the delicate investigation to Vaughn's division. A division dedicated to finding missing No-Maj children using a wealth of magical resources.

Vaughn stood from his desk and paced the small office with a sigh. He brushed his hand against the standard-issued gun resting along his hip. A No-Maj invention with the power to defend and take life, much like the cream colored wand he kept hidden within the folds of his jacket. The MACUSA's pocket within the FBI was a small one and kept as such through their necessity for secrecy. Outside of his unit, Vaughn's coworkers were No-Majs, as oblivious to the magical world as they were to the meaning of the Gordian knot necklace he still wore from his Ilvermorny days. One slip up and the MACUSA would ruin his career, decimate his selectively chosen crew, and pull any and all magical personnel from the FBI's payroll. Vaughn rubbed a hand across his face and spared another glance at the pictures.

The door to the cramped quarters opened with a loud creak and one of Vaughn's crew crossed the threshold carrying two Starbucks cups in his hands. Vaughn accepted the beverage with a faint smile. Special Agent Matts. The heart of the team.

"Let's hear it, Matts. You only buy me a cappuccino when you've got something in the works." The slender blond feigned ignorance.

"Aw, c'mon, Vaughn. Maybe I just felt like being a charitable guy today."

"Charitable. Right." Vaughn took a drink then nodded toward the envelope sticking out of Matts' bag, stamped closed with the Hogwarts seal. "It looks like someone received their Hogwarts letter a little late."

"Ha ha, very funny," the officer retorted as he fished the letter from his satchel. He handed it to his superior with a shrug. "It was delivered to my house this morning by HORSE. Can you believe it? A mailman rode up and gave it to me in the driveway. Anyway, I couldn't open the darn thing. Probably some type of magical mumbo jumbo keeping the likes of me out, huh?"

Vaughn laughed. It was a rough, hollowed sound after hours of misuse. He pulled the wand from his jacket, muttered an incantation, and cut through the stamped seal with a letter opener. The wand was returned to its hiding place with a practiced hand. "Too bad your kid isn't eleven yet, or you could've had him open it up for you."

"Ryan? Nah. If it doesn't have something to do with Ilvermorny, he's not interested. Just three more years to go and then he'll be heading off to Massachusetts."

"Well, tell him that all the best wizards go into the Thunderbird House," Vaughn smirked. "We're the undefeated Quodpot champs twenty years running." He returned to his second-hand chair and flattened the thick parchment on his desk.

"Yyyeeaahhh, he's already picked Wampus," Matts said with a grin.

"You still have plenty of time to change his mind." The dark haired man suddenly paused, missing his partner's sarcastic response, as he skimmed the beautiful calligraphy. Matts craned his neck over the front of the desk and tried to read its contents upside-down.

"Matts. Get Bridgeborn," Vaughn instructed, his cappuccino now forgotten. Matts stumbled backward toward the door.

"Sure thing, Vaughn. Give me one sec." And then the blond was gone, closing Vaughn's office door with a light snap. The wizard reread the passage for a second and third time before the meaning stuck, and he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He rubbed his thumb over the inked signature at the bottom and smiled.

"Headmistress McGonagall." Vaughn owed her a great debt and wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to thank his benefactor in person. His smile wavered. The headmistress was a living legend, known for her undeniable grit and valor during the bloody Battle of Hogwarts and her limitless compassion and leadership following that harrowing day. For such a heroine to lend her services to a pair of missing No-Maj children hundreds of miles across the Atlantic Ocean was almost too good to be true. Vaughn hoped he wouldn't let her assistance go to waste.

Matts returned minutes later with a petite woman at his heels, her wavy hair pulled back into its customary ponytail. Special Agent Bridgeborn. The brains of the team. She glanced at the haphazard shape of Vaughn's office with an air of disapproval.

"Another all-nighter, Vaughn?" she crossed her arms, perturbed. "We're a team, you know. If you needed extra help with the case—"

"Bridgeborn." Vaughn returned her steely gaze and silenced any further debates on the matter. His voice softened as he tapped the parchment before him. "Hogwarts accepted our request." The female officer gaped at her superior in surprise.

"I don't believe it." She snatched the letter and read the fine penmanship, ignoring the lanky form of Matts trying to find a good vantage point over her shoulder. "Vaughn, you do know what this means?"

"Yes. And we've got to work fast." Vaughn made to rise from his chair, but Matts stopped him with a shrill whine.

"Wait, hold on! Anyone care to fill me in before we go all guns and wands blazing?" Matts didn't bother waiting for a response and took the letter from Bridgeborn's hands. His frown deepened as he read the text. "Okay. So Hogwarts is lending us six of their owls? That's cool and all, but I don't see how this helps with our investigation."

"It _helps_ because it's practically unheard of," Vaughn said. His pointer and middle finger tapped a haphazard rhythm across the desk. "These owls are trained to deliver letters and packages virtually anywhere in the world. They'll travel miles to remote islands, mountains, boats, any place you can think of."

"Don't forget cupboards," the brunette added wryly. Vaughn gave her a knowing nod.

"Exactly. Hogwarts owls have a GPS sense of direction. I'd be willing to bet that we can use those same tracking skills in a search-and-rescue operation. Namely, in finding these two young girls." Vaughn waited for Matts' predictable rebuttal as the young man knit his brows in confusion.

"You're telling me that a bunch of birds are gonna find these missing children?"

"Barn owls, to be precise."

"But why use an owl when a drone could do the work instead?" Matts pressed. "We've got drones equipped with thermal heat imaging and facial recognition software along with all the other bells and whistles. Wouldn't that be more effective?"

"Not for this case," Vaughn replied with a shrug. "Our search area is nearly two hundred miles wide, in mostly wooded terrain. The PD already had some of their guys scope out the area by plane, but came up with nothing."

"That doesn't mean anything, Vaughn. You said it yourself. Those woods are huge. They could've missed something." At this, Vaughn ceased his restless tapping. "When I say that they came up with nothing, I mean it. The video footage they reportedly took was nothing more than static, and the airborne pictures were blurry at best."

"Why wasn't that on the books?" Matts asked.

"Because apparently those woods have been like that for years," Bridgeborn clarified. "The locals call it their very own Bermuda Triangle. That's part of the reason why the FBI snatched up the case so fast. Something weird is going on, and I doubt it's the UFO rumor the townsfolk cooked up."

"Which means we go old school. Hence the owls. Keep in mind, Matts, these little girls are barely four and five years old," Vaughn continued, his voice losing some of its calloused edge. "In my experience, a little kid like that is far more comfortable around a small animal than some flying computer. Besides, even if we could get a drone to work out there, that's still a lot of ground to cover. Six of our feathered friends should be able to handle it well enough." Matts leaned against the desk and ran a hand through his sandy hair. After a moment or two of silence, he eventually conceded defeat.

"Okay, okay. You win. All right, let's do this." He made a beeline for the door before hesitating at the threshold. "Uh, exactly where are we going again?" The female agent procured her wand from the satchel she had slung across her shoulder.

"The local bird sanctuary. That's where we'll find our Hogwarts owls." She gave the boys a sly grin. "I'll get a head start and make sure everything's in order. See you boys there." Within moments, the witch had vanished.

"I hate it when she does that!" Matts groaned. Vaughn placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the door.

"Try doing it yourself. You'll hate it even more." The lead detective had only ever Apparated once in his life and had promised himself that he'd never repeat that horrible experience ever again. He shuddered at the memory—throwing up over his shoes and succumbing to a week long bout of vertigo was not the way he'd intended to spend his vacation at Yellowstone National Park. "Let's go, Matts. We've got a long drive ahead of us." The duo exited the office and made their way to the elevators. His lanky companion raised an eyebrow.

"Like thirty minutes long?"

"Try three hours."

"Oh, C'MON!"

Vaughn smiled to himself as the elevator doors shut. If Matts was the heart of the team and Bridgeborn was the brains, he was the backbone, balancing the No-Maj and magical worlds he shared between them.


	2. Chapter 2

Two and a half hours passed with ease as Vaughn drove the truck down the highway. Matts fiddled with the radio, eventually settling on a country station, and propped his feet on the dash. They'd received word from Bridgeborn via text that the proper paperwork was signed and approved, granting them a week deadline before the owls were returned to their Hogwarts home. Matts swiped through his phone with lazy interest.

"That's what I don't get, Vaughn. Doesn't Ilvermorny have owls you can round up? Then we wouldn't be pigeon-holed into a one-week contract from the big wigs," Matts said. He paused then laughed at his own joke. "No pun intended."

"Headmistress McGonagall argued on our behalf against the Ministry of Magic for an extension, but seven days is all we get. Which means we suck it up and make the most of it. And, to answer your question, Ilvermorny doesn't do the whole owl thing. It's about the only tradition we didn't borrow from the Brits," the lead detective replied. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in beat to the Tim McGraw song that poured from the speakers. Matts gawked at him from the passenger seat.

"Hold on. Then how did you and Heather get your Ilvermorny letters when you turned eleven?"

"Me and Bridgeborn? The same way you got your lovely letter this morning," Vaughn chuckled. The blond paused in his mundane internet surfing.

"Wait, WHAT? You mean that Ryan's gonna get his Ilvermorny letter from a HORSE?"

"Well, yeah." Vaughn switched lanes and passed a semi on the road, trying to ignore his partner's string of questions. He eventually raised a hand in surrender. "All right, calm down, Matts. Look, it's just always been that way. When the school first began, a lot of the children were either from local settlers who had just traveled to the New World, or from nearby Native American tribes. Horses were the main source of transportation back then, so they were the obvious choice. You do know what happened back in 1860, right?"

"Just in case I slept through history class and missed that little gem, why don't you fill me in?" Matts said, earning an eye roll from the driver.

"The Pony Express. Believe it or not, it was created by Ilvermorny graduates so that children along the western coast could receive their letters from the school. From St. Joseph, Missouri, Ilvermorny sent its finest riders two thousand miles across the country. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Sounds like Hogwarts was smarter to go with the owls," Matts said cheekily. He ducked as Vaughn attempted to shove him good-naturedly from across the console. "Hey, a sign for the bird sanctuary! Finally. I can't wait to get out and stretch my legs."

Vaughn took the designated exit and traversed the gravel roads until he pulled into the small parking lot where Bridgeborn stood to one side, awaiting their arrival. The men hopped out of the truck.

"Took you long enough," she said with a grin. The special agent tapped her wand against her side, eliciting a string of emerald sparks in its wake. Vaughn gave her a side-long glance. "Relax, boss. This whole place is All-Maj. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the Ministry of Magic rep they sent over from across the pond. And just a heads up, the guy's a real piece of work."

"Great," Vaughn groaned as he fell into step beside Bridgeborn. Matts scurried behind them and batted a few leftover sparks from his clothes.

"I want to name one 'Sir Feathers,'" came the voice behind Vaughn's shoulder.

"They already have names, Dustin," Bridgeborn said matter-of-factly. "Let me re-phrase that. They already have GOOD names."

"Hey! 'Sir Feathers' is a good name!" Matts retorted as he squeezed himself in-between the wizard and witch while they walked. The woman scoffed. Vaughn, anticipating a round of bickering that he didn't have the patience to referee, quickly interfered.

"Remember, these are service animals, not pets. As far as I'm concerned, they're called Owls One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six. It would be best not to get too attached."

The trio passed a row of well-kept enclosures before entering a small courtyard. It was too early for fall, but the amber-colored leaves spiraled from above regardless, missing the occupants below as they fell. Matts gaped at the spectacle but Vaughn turned a blind eye to the simple enchantment. Instead, he approached the cloaked figure who stood in the center of the clearing with his hands clasped behind his back. Bridgeborn offered the introductions.

"Mr. Shawnix, I'd like you to meet my supervisor, Special Agent Valenfield, and my associate, Special Agent Matts." Vaughn held out his hand and the man gave it a brief shake.

"So I've heard."

"Please, call me Vaughn." The shift in Vaughn's voice was subtle, but his companions recognized the soft edge that coated his words. Vaughn didn't trust this man; however, Ministry of Magic personnel made better friends than enemies, and he didn't want to be at the mercy of one of Britain's personal lapdogs. "I hope the trip was pleasant."

"Naturally," the oily voice replied. He studied Vaughn and Matts carefully before continuing. "Vaughn, if I may be so forward, I was hoping that we could discuss the finer details of the transaction in private. My esteemed employer has a few reservations concerning this arrangement." _Just my luck_ , Vaughn thought grimly, _I get to play word games with this chump_.

"By all means," he said, fighting his instinct to say something much darker. "Matts, Bridgeborn. Give us a moment."

"Yes sir," the pair replied and retreated back the way they'd arrived. Vaughn felt vulnerable without the presence of his fellow officers, but failed to let his discomfort show.

"Before we begin, I just want to thank you for this opportunity. It's a debt that my team and I feel compelled to repay," Vaughn said. His grim guest of honor didn't respond right away and, instead, brushed a stray piece of hair from his face. The simple action angered Vaughn.

"Oh, I have no doubt of your noble intentions," Shawnix purred. "However, the worth of your particular unit remains to be seen." This time Vaughn couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the well-concealed threat.

"Is that so?" he ventured. The Brit smiled humorlessly.

"I understand that both you and Special Agent Bridgeborn attended Ilvermorny, in the Thunderbird and Horned Serpent Houses, respectively."

"That's correct," Vaughn answered. The smile widened.

"And the other young man—Special Agent Matts, was it?—completed his studies at a state-run public school in Kansas." Vaughn's expression darkened at the unspoken implication.

"Do you have an issue with a member of my team, Mr. Shawnix?"

"Please understand, I am but a mere messenger. An extension of the Ministry. Their concerns have no bearing on my personal opinions."

"But you disagree with Matts being involved in the investigation," Vaughn stated. He took a step closer to the slimy man before him.

"The Ministry has no quarrel with the man himself. They simply disagree with your decision to promote a Squib to your task force."

"A decision which has the full backing of MACUSA," the lead detective shot back. Mr. Shawnix ducked his head in a faux display of submission.

"Of course. However, there are certain risks that we cannot ignore. Such as his strong roots to the Muggle community. Ah, forgive me. _No-Maj_ community." The blunder was as staged as the man himself. Vaughn took another step forward to close the distance between them.

"Seeing as his boy is a wizard, I highly doubt Matts will act in any way unbecoming of a MACUSA licensed official."

"We shall see," was the ominous reply. Mr. Shawnix lifted his chin slightly. "An interesting land, isn't it? America. Home to a variety of magical beasts. No-Majs. Squibs." There was a pause as the man narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Mudbloods."

"Congratulations. I see you've read my file," Vaughn said flatly. Mr. Shawnix continued, undeterred.

"In some aspects, the Ministry feels that it would be best if agent Bridgeborn led MACUSA's FBI outfit instead."

"I'm sure that observation has nothing to do with the fact that she comes from a pureblood family line."

"Nothing of the sort." Vaughn, disgusted, turned to leave, disregarding the last shreds of formality in the process.

"This conversation is over, Mr. Shawnix. You'll get your owls back by the week's end, as promised." He'd already made it to the edge of the courtyard before he heard the Ministry man speak his name.

"Special Agent Valenfield."

"Vaughn," he corrected crossly.

"Should yourself or, say, Special Agent Matts, fail to produce satisfactory results in this investigation, the consequences could be staggering."

"Have a good day, Mr. Shawnix. I'm sure you can see yourself out." With that, Vaughn spun on his heel and left the courtyard and its glimmering leaves behind. He found Matts and Bridgeborn loitering by the trailhead, as if they'd tried—and failed—to eavesdrop on the private conference. Bridgeborn frowned as her superior approached.

"Hey, Vaughn. You okay?"

"Yeah, man. What'd he say?" added Matts. Vaughn shook his head slightly.

"You were right, Bridgeborn. He's a piece of work." He brushed past them and made a beeline for the enclosures. "It's about time we meet our new co-workers, Owls One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six."

"You mean Sir Feathers!" Matts shouted and raced to catch up with his long strides. Bridgeborn joined the duo and gave Matts a playful push.

"Five minutes later, and it's STILL a bad name."

"It's growing on you, I can tell."

"In your dreams, Dustin."

As their banter continued, Vaughn's thoughts drifted to Matts and his boy. If the case went sideways, did he have enough clout and political pull to spare Matts from prosecution? That was assuming MACUSA continued to support his decision to appoint both Matts and Bridgeborn as part of his detail. And if MACUSA were to turn a blind eye instead? Vaughn shuddered at the thought. No, he did not want the Ministry of Magic as his enemy, but their oily ambassador wasn't making things easy. He tensed when he felt someone touch his shoulder and give him a firm shake.

"Hm?" Vaughn mumbled, realizing that he'd somehow ended up outside of the bald eagle pen. The beautiful creatures peered at him from their perches.

"Let me guess. He made a jab at Dustin?" Bridgeborn said. She swished her wand nonchalantly through the air. Vaughn caught a glimpse of Matts two cages away making cooing noises at the carrier pigeons and sighed.

"Something like that. Probably more bark than bite."

"Mr. Shawnix is dangerous, Vaughn. He'll think of any excuse to come after the two of you."

"I'm not worried about me," Vaughn said. The woman smiled a little sadly.

"You should be." She gave him another nudge. "The owls are this way, boss. Follow me."


	3. Chapter 3

The trio entered the designated clearing and Vaughn ducked instinctively as a fluffy shadow swooped overhead.

"Look at that, Vaughn! A barn owl!" Matts squealed. He proffered his arm with gusto. "I wonder if it'll fly to me. C'mere, little guy!" To the blond's enormous surprise, the beautiful bird circled Matts from above before perching itself atop his forearm. He beamed at Vaughn from behind his newest companion. "Is this the coolest thing ever or what?" The brunette frowned.

"How'd you do that, Matts?" Vaughn raised his arm tentatively in an attempt to copy Matts' posture. The five additional owls under their care hopped lazily from branch to branch, ignoring him completely. He dropped his arm and feigned disinterest. "Huh. Maybe they only respond to certain people."

"Like children," snorted Bridgeborn. Vaughn chuckled at the young father's expense.

"You might be right. Hogwarts owls appeal to little kids, after all. And Matts is basically just a kid himself." This statement was solidified moments later after Matts exclaimed that he'd named the heart-faced bird of prey Sir Feathers and motioned to his comrades with his free hand.

"Guys! Hurry up and take a picture! Ryan is gonna get such a kick outta this!" Bridgeborn fished her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and snapped a photo.

"I just texted it to you, Dustin. Let me know if I got Sir Feathers' good side."

While Matts stroked the owl's soft plumage, Vaughn turned to the witch, who was twirling her sturdy oak wand pensively between her thumb and forefinger.

"So…what now?" he asked. "Any idea how to activate their search and rescue mode?" Bridgeborn shrugged.

"Not sure, boss. They don't exactly come with a training manual. And Mister High and Mighty back there sure didn't give me any pointers."

"Hmm." Vaughn pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe they just need a Headmaster to follow."

"Uh huh. And where do you think we're gonna find a Headmaster out here in the boonies?"

"We already have one," he replied, gesturing at the blond. "Headmaster Matts. Unofficial owl whisperer." At the mention of his name, Matts glanced in their direction.

"What? Me? Headmaster?" he gaped.

"Why not? The owls trust you, Matts. They won't even come near me and Bridgeborn, which means I'm letting you take point on this one. Go ahead and give it a shot." Matts gave an eager nod.

"All right, Sir Feathers. Looks like it's up to me." He proceeded to give a speech in front of his feathered audience, describing the missing girls and their last known location in great detail. The barn owls peered at their temporary Headmaster with tilted heads as Matts continued. "Scout the wooded area where they were last seen. If you find anything, report to me or the others immediately." A brief pause and then: "And if that Ministry of Magic guy hasn't already Apparated somewhere, give him a sharp peck on the back of the head—"

" _Matts_." Vaughn gave him a cutting stare. The blond's shoulders dipped slightly.

"Okay, I lied. You can't peck the Ministry man. Other than that, Operation Barn Owl is GO!"

In a flurry of feathers, the barn owls took to the sky. Sir Feathers was the last to leave and passed overhead one final time before disappearing beyond the treetops. The fading sunset—a beautiful mix of pinks and oranges—warmed Vaughn's back as he turned away from the clearing and returned to the path. His partners followed suit.

"I don't know about you guys, but I could really go for a steak right about now. Bridgeborn, you in?"

"Only if you're buying," the witch smirked. She tossed her wand from hand to hand, creating a shower of green glitter. "C'mon, boss. You haven't cast a spell all day. We're not at the office. You can loosen up a little, you know." Matts shook his superior's shoulder in earnest.

"YEAH! I hardly ever get to see you guys do any cool spells!"

"Ask Bridgeborn. She's the one with all the talent. I was only ever good at blowing myself up in Quodpot," Vaughn said, trying to deflect the attention. Matts persisted and he eventually succumbed to his pleas.

"All right, all right! But only if my wand decides to cooperate." He pried the object from within the folds of his jacket and swished it around experimentally. The tip emitted a feeble red spark. The wielder sighed, as though admonishing a small child. "Oh, c'mon." Another swish, another spark. He tried again—more forcefully—but the wood merely shuddered once before falling dormant. "And now it's pouting. It's not gonna work for me anytime soon." Vaughn made to return his wand to its hiding place, but Bridgeborn stopped him with a tug on his sleeve.

"You've got a temperamental one, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah, you could say that again. I'm surprised the thing even picked me."

"Wait, what?" Matts suddenly came to a stop in the middle of the path and gawked at the wand in his boss's hands. "You mean to say that your wands have, like, emotions?"

"They certainly seem to have a mind of their own sometimes," Bridgeborn replied with a shrug. "But I've never had a touchy wand. This baby's worked like a charm ever since I got her when I was eleven. Maple with Jackalope antler core. Perfect match."

The group continued toward the parking lot. Bridgeborn, in response to Matts' request, performed a handful of simple spells along the way.

"This one seems appropriate. Avis," she said. A flock of birds appeared and glided easily across the glade.

"WHOA! That's so cool! Aw, one more!" Matts encouraged.

"All right, Dustin. Mobiliarbus!" Bridgeborn levitated the bench to their immediate right and moved it to the other side of the trail. This earned her a low whistle from the blond.

"Ryan's gonna have the time of his life when he gets one of those!" A quick look in Vaughn's direction, then: "Well, assuming he isn't stuck with a bum wand. You sure you can't just, you know, switch it out?" At this, Vaughn laughed.

"No, Matts. I can't switch wands. It's like owning a pet. A lifelong commitment unless…well, unless something happens to it." They approached the parking lot just as the sunset completely disappeared from the night sky.

"So, where are we headed? Steak 'n Shake? Oh wait, what about Texas Roadhouse? They've gotta have one of those around here…" Matts said. His stomach growled in agreement.

"Well, what about an All-Maj restaurant? You've never been to one, have you Matts?" Vaughn suggested.

"You guys have your own RESTAURANTS?"

"You poor, naïve, little No-Maj," joked Bridgeborn. Matts bounced up and down in excitement. "Then it's settled. There's a place down the road that should do the trick. Snallygaster Sidewinders. I overheard a couple talk about it today while I was waiting for you two to show up." She told Vaughn how to find it and gain entry. "I'll save us some spots."

"Thanks, Bridgeborn," Vaughn said as he fished out his keys. "See you in ten."

"I'll have some beers ready for you guys when you get there." In a flash of green, the witch vanished from sight. The men entered the vehicle and took off down the gravel road.

Snallygaster Sidewinders was well off the beaten path, situated along a pair of twisting back roads that gave it its name. Vaughn parked in the gravel lot and Matts wasted no time bounding toward the entrance.

"C'mon, Vaughn! Let's go!" he said with a wave of his hand.

"Hopefully Bridgeborn got us some good seats," Vaughn added. He caught up to his companion in three easy strides. The pair approached the door and provided the password— _Butterbeer Boggart—_ and the seemingly ordinary diner transformed into a two level structure. Enchanted butterflies glowing in startling colors from reds and golds to soft lavenders flitted across the windows like moving stained glass. Matts stared, dumbfounded, at the beautiful sight.

"Whhhooaaa. Is there anything you guys CAN'T do?"

"Well, we make horrible politicians," Vaughn joked. He prodded Matts inside. "And I've never found a magical lemon meringue pie as good as my grandmother's homemade recipe. Remember, Matts. Magic is useful, and it can be fun. But it's not always better."

"C'mon, Vaughn, you don't seriously believe that! I mean, look at this place!" Matts exclaimed. The crowded restaurant brimmed with light and laughter. Floating pitchers of juice and butterbeer refilled glasses of their own accord. Menus dissolved in colorful bursts after ordering. Wood nymphs sang songs from above the guests in sweet, harmonious tones. Vaughn saw Bridgeborn wave them over to a corner table and he physically guided his transfixed partner to his seat.

"This place is INCREDIBLE!" Matts said. He pointed to a flying tablecloth. "Look at that! And that! That painting's moving. _THAT PAINTING'S MOVING, HEATHER_!" The witch shrugged.

"I've shown you moving pictures before. If anything, they're similar to those cat gifs you sent me all last week."

"YEAH BUT THESE ARE COOLER!"

Vaughn nursed the beer in front of him as he watched their exchange. The witch had her chair tipped back, completely at peace within this magical world. She had her wand on the table, ready to perform any number of spells at a moment's notice. Matts had already ordered the appetizer crab legs, which had to be beaten in a game of checkers before lying motionless on the plate. He laughed in delight.

"Vaughn, dude, order the Rampage Ravioli! I wanna see what they do!"

"Nah, I'm holding out for my steak," Vaugh said. He raised his glass of beer and a passing pitcher topped it off. Matts aimed his fork back and forth between the witch and wizard.

"So, we've been a team for about three months now. Well, actually, you guys were assigned to the division before I was brought on board." Matts cracked open a large crab leg and spoke in-between bites. "Did you two always want to go the FBI route after graduating from Ilvermorny? As for me, I took one of those personality career tests in high school. It said I could either become a motivational speaker, a professional dog walker, or a yoga instructor. So, naturally, I did none of those things and went to Quantico for basic training."

"Being in the FBI kind of runs in the family," Bridgeborn said. She hijacked a crab leg off of Matts' plate. "Always knew that's what I would end up doing after school. Ilvermorny had their own cadet program for those of us who wanted to go into the armed services. After that, MACUSA put us grads on the fast track."

"Wait, you and Vaughn were in the same cadet program?"

"Not exactly. I took a little different path," Vaughn replied. "It's a long story."

"We've got nothing but time, boss. Our steaks haven't even arrived yet," the witch said. She stretched her arms behind her head. "Besides, I've always wanted to know how you went from Quodpot champ to FBI agent."

"Maybe I just got tired of blowing myself up," Vaughn shrugged. He tried to change the subject, but his partners refused to give him a free pass.

"Dude. Cccc'mmmooonnnnn," Matts groaned obnoxiously.

"Okay, okay. You win." Vaughn said. He took a healthy swig of beer. "Well, I always figured that I'd play professional Quodpot after graduation. During my seventh year at Ilvermorny, an army recruiter came by the campus and talked me into joining. By that time, I could tell that I didn't have the talent to make it in the big leagues with Quodpot, so I signed up."

"Hold on. You joined the _army_? Then how'd you get roped into the FBI?" Matts inquired.

"Mostly by luck, to be honest. While I was in basic training, there was an incident. A lot of us were hurt pretty badly." He paused as the waitress presented their steaks. The lumps of meat proceeded to complete an accompanying dance across the table, which went largely ignored by Vaughn's two-person audience. Vaughn dug into his steak with gusto and reached for the salt. He hesitated when he noticed Matts and Bridgeborn's continued silence. "What is it? Did they get your steaks too rare?"

"Boss, what happened during basic training?" the witch asked, leaving her silverware untouched. Vaughn set his fork down with a sigh.

"You're really not gonna eat until I tell you, huh?"

"Not when you just leave us off on a big cliffhanger!" came the blond's retort. Vaughn relented after another mouthful of steak.

"I was almost out of basic when it happened. A dementor attacked my squadron. It was the middle of the night. We were sleeping and—" Bridgeborn made an uncharacteristic noise in the back of her throat.

"Jeezus, boss! Why wasn't this public record? How'd that monster break through the military's defenses?"

"It _was_ public record. Technically. The authorities just happened to blame it on food poisoning instead. As for how that thing got in, your guess is as good as mine. It probably just found a lot of people in one place and thought…" Vaughn cleared his throat and glanced up at the young father. "Matts. Believe me when I say this creature is the stuff of nightmares. I'd never wish a dementor on my worst enemy."

"How'd you get rid of this dementor thing?" Matts ventured. "I mean, will Ryan ever see one? Should I…should I be worried?" Vaughn clapped a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder.

"You have nothing to worry about. Ryan's gonna be just fine. I'm willing to bet the only time he's gonna see one is in a textbook." Matts' shoulders dipped a little in relief. "But, I'm not gonna lie. They're horrible things. And when it grabbed me…" Vaughn shrugged. "I don't remember much after that. Woke up two months later."

Both agents stared at him in shock. It was Bridgeborn who broke the silence.

"Boss. How'd you manage to survive?"

"Apparently one of the C.O.'s was able to produce a Patronus Charm and drive it away. Whatever that thing did, it landed me in a coma." At the crestfallen look on his companions' faces, Vaughn managed a sheepish smile. "Hey, guys. A conversation for another time, okay? It's not everyday we get a steak dinner, after all."

But both agents stubbornly refused to touch their food. Even a passing Bowtruckle couldn't tear Matts' attention away. Vaughn flushed from the unexpected spotlight and hastened his explanation.

"After I recovered, MACUSA offered me a position within the FBI in exchange for participating in Europe's Dementor test studies. It's a program they started after the Battle of Hogwarts to see if any survivors of dementor attacks develop long-term problems when they get older. It's pretty simple, really. The doctors take some brain scans a few times a year just to make sure things are still functioning. So far, so good."

The table was silent. Vaughn suddenly felt like a zoo attraction. He cleared his throat and dug back into his steak. Matts and Bridgeborn didn't follow suit. He set his silverware down with a loud clatter.

"Okay, what's wrong? This doesn't change things between us, does it?" It was Bridgeborn who spoke next, her face stricken with anger.

"They _silenced_ you, boss. They gave you a promotion and an office so MACUSA wouldn't have to admit to a dementor attack on our soil. Did they even award you for your service?"

The answer was obvious. Vaughn was seized with a memory of lying prone in a hospital bed, listening to a MACUSA official announce the end of his military career while a representative from the Ministry of Magic pushed papers under his nose to sign his life away to their Dementor program. A week later, he'd been shipped to Britain for the first phase of mental tests. A baseline, they'd assured him. It was more or less an interrogation, set up between the American and British governments, to ensure his cooperation as a long-term lab rat.

He'd never questioned their motives after that.

"Bridgeborn—"

"It's not right," she continued. "What about the other members in your squadron? Were they given the same deal?"

Vaughn lifted his beer as if to take a drink but caught himself just staring at the amber liquid instead.

"I don't know." The real answer was that Vaughn had been prohibited from seeing them after that tragic day.

"Are you, like, breaking a lot of rules telling us this, man?" Matts asked. He snuck a wary glance over his shoulder, as if expecting Aurors to burst through the butterfly glasswork. Vaugh smirked.

"Not really. I suspect MACUSA knew I'd eventually tell someone, so they forged a backstory in my file. It says that the coma created grand delusions of dementors. It gives them the power to stick me in an asylum if the truth ever reaches more people than they like." He brushed off their stares with a shake of his head. "All right, no more gloomy questions. I don't want to let this dinner go to waste." He was about to sink his teeth into another bite, when the blond raised his fork.

"Hey, just one more question then I'll stop, I swear!"

"All right, Matts. One more. Then I get to grill you two." This prompted small smiles from his team.

"So…how do you play Quodpot?"

The rest of the night ended in warm conversation, swapping stories over dessert and butterbeer. Vaughn and Matts rented rooms above the bustling restaurant for the night, while Bridgeborn returned to the comfort of her apartment in a sparkle of green. Vaughn tossed Matts his key as they stood in front of adjacent doors.

"We're heading out bright and early tomorrow, Matts. Plan to be downstairs by six. And if any of the Hogwarts owls visit you in the middle of the night, wake me up immediately. For all we know, they may have already found us a lead."

"No prob, Vaughn. Leave it to the owl master!" Matts fiddled with the key then entered his room with cries of boyish delight at the newest magical wonders inside. Vaughn pushed his door open and made a beeline for the bed. He lay on the quilted covers and watched as the enchantment across the ceiling created millions of tiny, twinkling stars against a velvety night sky.

He pried his wand from the inside of his pocket and gave it a playful swish. A series of red sparks followed the movement. He pointed it at the complimentary chocolate frog on the nightstand and said, "Accio!" The chocolate frog merely trembled and fell to one side. The agent sighed at the indignant wand. "You're still not cooperating with me, huh? Look, I'm trying. I'm not exactly the wizard you wanted, but you're not exactly the wand I picked out, either. Work with me, here." Another red spark ignited, brighter this time, as though the wand was refuting his words. He grumbled and tossed it on the nightstand. "Fine then. Act like a child. Go ahead and pout all you want."

Vaughn padded to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water onto his face. He reached for the towel with one hand and jumped when he felt the tip of a wand jab him in the back of the neck.

"Mr. Valenfield. Let's talk."


End file.
